The Fall
by Foreverwolf
Summary: Brotherhood AU: Dean and Caleb discover that things get messy when John's trying to assert his authority. But has he gone too far this time? And can he live with the consequences? Small warning for Dean and Caleb's usual language.
1. Chapter 1

**The Fall**

**AN:** I would once again like to extend mega thanks to Ridley C James and Tidia for creating this wonderful universe, and for allowing us mere mortals to play in their sandbox. I can only hope I've stayed true to the characters they and Erik Kripke created.

**AN:** It's 3am, so this isn't my best work, but should you happen to forgive me and continue reading, please know that the story is finished (and the sequel started). I love hurt Dean, and I love freaking out worried Caleb, so there's a lot of that in here. Minor warning for language.

**SPN FW BR SPN FW BR THE BROTHERHOOD SPN FW BR SPN FW BR**

"Damien, if you keep staring at me, I'm going to start spreading some _really_ nasty rumours about your sexuality," Dean growled, feeling the heat of his friend's eyes on him once again.

"So that's it? Just like that?"

"We have our orders," Dean sighed, accepting that Caleb was pissed, but also knowing there wasn't a damn thing he could do about it. "It's our fault anyway. If we had just told him we had plans, instead of trying to sneak out-"

"Johnny would _still_ have us out here, digging around a building that passed ancient a few hundred years ago," Caleb finished. "Fun isn't in the great Knight's vocabulary these days."

Dean turned his flashlight to his current tormentor. "What do you want me to say?" he demanded. Because he would love to know. Reaves lived in a world of choices- something completely foreign to Dean. He did what he had to to survive in his own world. He didn't have to like it- but he did have to live in it. Something he'd thought his best friend understood.

Caleb winced at the turmoil of emotions running through the younger man. Okay, so it wasn't fair to take his frustrations out on Dean. He was angry, but that was no reason to make Dean feel like he had to choose between his father and his best friend. He'd already been forced to take sides once and it had nearly destroyed him. They were just finally starting to get him back.

"You have anything on the EMF?" Caleb replied, his own personal brand of apology.

"You have anything on that psychic radar of yours?" Dean carefully accepted the olive branch Caleb was offering. "We both know this place is a bust, so let's just check out every square inch like good little soldiers then get back."

Caleb nodded, not liking the resignation in the normally fiery teen's demeanour. He grinned. "We could always skip out."

Dean snorted, turning away, not even bothering to respond. That would have them both running manoeuvres with full gear for a week, full fledged hunters or not. While it might have been worth the risk at one point, he wasn't willing to push his father these days.

"Why don't you go check out that corner, over by the conveyor belt?" Dean suggested, determined to get this so called hunt over with. His father had heard about it from the locals. It didn't seem to fit with his current hunt, and Caleb had made the unfortunate mistake of showing up looking for a good time.

While they hadn't actually tried to sneak out, Caleb had made it clear he was ready for some action, and needed his wing man along. It was the end before the beginning when he'd _stated_ to Dad that Dean was coming with him.

The ensuing fight had been loud, and it had drained what little energy Dean had been able to muster after two days without much sleep. Dad was being tight lipped about his hunt, and to be honest, Dean hadn't been much more than back up. Still, the threat to Dad's authority had been clearly registered.

In an effort to to garner peace, Dean had agreed to check out the old factory, while Caleb could continue with his evening out. He'd understood Reaves had felt betrayed, but he didn't understand. Dad had been going through a rough time of late. They all had their own ways of dealing with Sam's departure, and subsequent lack of communication. Going extreme commando on anything evil was John's. Even as he'd said it, he'd known Dad would let him go, if only to make Damien feel guilty. It didn't matter. Both boys had known the minute John put out the order that they'd go. Dean preferred to do it with as little attention as possible, while Damien preferred to make his defeat as dramatic as possible.

"Deuce?" Caleb placed a gentle hand on his friends shoulder, narrowing his eyes when slightly unfocused green eyes met his. "Where were you? You kinda phased out on me there."

Snapping himself out of his thoughts, Dean offered a thin smirk. "As far away from your prattling as I could get. Come on." The teen moved away from the touch. He really just wanted to be done and hopefully in bed within the next hour. Lucifer would just have to have his fun without him. He wouldn't be great company anyway.

"Are you okay?"

"I'm fine, Damien, quit your blubbering."

"The only reason you're not crying with me is because you didn't see the hotties I had lined up for us tonight," Caleb winked. "Ignorance being bliss and all that."

"If anyone-"

"Deuce, you continue that and I won't ever buy you dinner again!" Caleb growled.

"Dude, privacy!"

"Like I have to be in your head to know what you're going to say."

Dean paused, then turned around and grinned. "Does that mean you're buying me dinner after this?"

"Don't I always? There's a couple of steaks with our names on them just around the corner." Johnny's order to report back be damned. Deuce needed some time away from the man.

He wished he had shown up sooner, in fact. The dark circles under the pale man's eyes were clear signs that John was pushing him hard. Caleb mentally swore at his mentor. He understood John was running- was determined to keep the one remaining son tightly reigned in. He knew equally that it wasn't necessary- that Dean wasn't going anywhere.

If he had to be honest, if only with himself, Caleb was a little scared for his friend. He wondered how many times John could break the boy before there was nothing left of him. Sam leaving for college had ripped out of huge piece of his heart and soul. He didn't even have to use his abilities to know Deuce was barely holding it together, and as much as he wanted to, Reaves really had no idea how to help.

Jim and his father were in the same boat. They could see as clearly as he what was happening, but were helpless to help. John didn't want it, and if they pushed too hard, that threat of the Winchesters simply disappearing was even more dangerous now than it had been. John wouldn't hesitate, and Dean- Dean had nothing left to fight with.

The old building groaned, bringing his attention back to the task at hand. As Dean had said, there weren't any ghosts here. This recon mission was a waste of time. Winchester was just being pissy.

"Deuce, let's go get those steaks," Caleb suggested. "We're done here."

Dean took one last glance at the dead EMF reader in his hand, and nodded. If there had been something here, Reaves would have picked up on it. "Yeah, all right." He took two steps forward, ready to do one last sweep, when both boys froze at the '_CRACK_' that rumbled through the old factory. They tensed when that loud sound echoed out and they could hear smaller cracks making their way through the floor.

Caleb glanced down, seeing the splits in the concrete were spreading out from where Dean was standing. The factory was old enough that a lot of the floor support could have fallen into the basement.

"Don't move," he ordered, throwing up a hand to stop the hunter.

"Yeah, I got that," Dean answered tensely, his eyes following the zig zagging lines. They were spreading out in all directions. It didn't take an architect to know he was screwed. Even if the floor underneath him continued to hold his weight, one wrong move and that hole would open up. It likened to standing on a landmine.

And he figured his chances were about as good.

"Deuce!" Caleb growled, licking his lips, sensing the younger man's thoughts.

"Now might be a good time to get out your cell, Damien. We both know I'm going down any minute now. Having someone know we're in trouble would probably be a good idea," Dean answered calmly.

Caleb snapped open his phone, hitting the speed dial hard, as if it would make the call go through faster. He closed his eyes in frustration when John's voice mail picked up. "Johnny. We're at the factory. There's trouble." He hung up, furious that the Knight had sent them out and didn't bother to monitor his cell phone as back up.

"You need to go," Dean spoke up.

"What?"

"Those cracks are heading right for you. If you won't go we'll both go down and then we'll really be fucked," Dean pointed out. He felt the floor beneath him give a little. It wasn't going to hold for much longer. He was familiar enough with how these old factories were built to know that once the floor actually gave out, the whole building wouldn't be far behind. He met the amber eyes and didn't need to be psychic to know what Reaves was considering doing. "Don't even think about it, Damien. This whole floor is about to go. Even if you got me off this spot, there's nowhere safe to land."

Caleb hated how calm Dean was being. His own heart felt like it was running a marathon. Dean was right, of course. There was nothing he could do- no benefit to staying with the younger man. At least if he went for help, they'd be able to get medical attention sooner.

But it went against every instinct he had. He understood it was the smarter thing to do, but, damnit, it just wasn't in him to leave a Winchester in trouble. Especially not Dean.

He winced when he felt acceptance rolling off his friend. Dean expected to die here, tonight- and was pretty okay with it, even a little relieved. His only concern was for Caleb, of getting him out of there before the inevitable happened. Dean was willing to let his father ruin his life- but he wasn't willing to sacrifice anyone else's just so John could prove a point.

"Don't you do that, Deuce," Caleb snarled, furious with the young man for his thoughts, for his total lack of self preservation and unyielding loyalty to an ass. He swore then and there that once they got out of here, he owed John a fat lip, Knight or no.

"You have to go," Dean repeated as he sank a little lower. One more would see him going right through. "We don't have time to argue."

"I'm not leaving you," Caleb hissed, desperately looking around for anything to help.

Dean assessed the situation, frantic now. Caleb was still standing on relatively solid ground. It wouldn't be for much longer. There was a small chance still to save his stubborn ass of a best friend.

Jade eyes met amber, and Caleb shook his head even as Dean pushed his weight down, the floor giving way under the applied pressure.

"Dean!"

But it was too late, the whole building shook and rumbled as the concrete floor disappeared- taking Dean with it.


	2. Good Intentions

**AN:** I promised someone that I would post this on Saturday, but real life sort of interfered and I couldn't do it until today. Sorry. Thank you greatly for the reviews and alerts!

Again, some warning for language.

**SPN DEAN FW SPN FW SAM SPN FW BR SPN FW FW SPN SPN**

The first thing Caleb knew was that he was gonna rip apart the fucker in the mac truck that hit him. The second was that for all that, he really wasn't hurting as bad as he should be. He coughed on the thick dust floating around, trying to work some moisture into his parched throat. Damn.

Blinking rapidly, he began to piece together what had happened. Okay. No mac truck. But he was sure as hell gonna take a strip off Deuce for this particular stunt! He remembered watching the younger man disappear, automatically throwing himself back as the floor started to collapse beneath him, as well. He'd lost his footing as the concrete beneath him gave way, forcing him to roll down.

It was too dark to really see anything, but he could hear the building as it settled, the rush of water draining out of piper older than he. He prayed that it was just left over- that there was no actual water source feeding them.

As he took it all in, he realized there was one thing he couldn't hear. "Dean!" he called out as strongly as he could.

When there was no answer, he tried to move, yelping when he tried to move his arm. Okay, so dislocated left shoulder. Next he gingerly moved his legs, wincing as pain shot up his leg. Left ankle broken. Maybe some bruised ribs, also on the left, painful but not broken. All in all, it could have been a lot worse. He could feel the bump on the side of his head throbbing, but graded it a mild concussion.

He tentatively stretched out with his abilities, wincing as a piercing pain split his brain in two. He barely got a glimpse of his connection with the younger hunter. Enough to tell he was alive, but nothing else. He groaned, having no choice but disconnect, as waves of nausea washed over him. Shit. So he was essentially offline. Just great. He swallowed it down, taking deep breaths to prevent what would undoubtedly be a painful rejection of his earlier lunch.

"Dean! Answer me!" he called out again, even as he carefully made it into a standing position, cradling his injured arm, his surroundings a little clearer as his eyes adjusted. He coughed again, but was thankful that the air was clearing. Obviously they had an air supply coming from somewhere. And if air could get in, that meant there was a chance they could get out. "Deuce!"

Christ, it looked like the whole factory had come down on them. He moved carefully over the debris, conscious of the fact it could still come crashing back down on them. He was thankful there was no electricity to be worried about as he pushed hanging cables out of his way, ducking around torn up rebar. His progress was painstakingly sluggish as his ankle slowed him down, catching painfully on wooden board and chunks of concrete.

He came across what looked to be a solid pillar still holding up. Without giving himself a chance to think about it, he shoved his dislocated shoulder hard against it, crying out as it popped back into place. Jesus that hurt- but at least his arm was somewhat useable now. Shrugging out of his jacket, he took off his outer shirt and fashioned a field sling, using his teeth to tie the knot. It wasn't perfect, but at least it relieved some of the pressure from his shoulder. Hesitating, he decided to keep his jacket with him. Johnny would have his balls if he dared throw away any piece of survival equipment.

Reaves cursed as he tripped over a board he hadn't seen, frowning when the dislodged plank revealed the flashlight he had dropped earlier. Moving the beam around, he knew Dean had to be close. He'd only been a few feet away from him when they'd fallen, and hadn't had the luxury of any slow roll. Deuce had gone straight down.

"Dean!"

"Damien?"

Caleb turned the beam in the direction his friends voice had come from. "Yeah, it's me. Keep talking." All he could see were piles of rubble, everywhere. While the thought that Dean could be under anyone of them wasn't a pleasant one, he needed something to follow. "Where are you?"

Dean coughed, wincing as pain radiated from every source. He blinked, trying to focus, but found it near impossible. His vision kept sliding on him, moving everywhere at once. The results were nauseating. He was extremely thankful they hadn't gone for those steaks before they'd come to the factory. "Here." Even through the dizzying merry-go-round routine his eyes were pulling, he could barely make out a shaft of light as it spanned the wrecked basement, trying to narrow down his location.

Of course, it would probably be better if he got up off his ass and met his friend halfway. After all, he could see the light, but Damien couldn't see him. He tried to move, but was unable to stop the scream that bubbled up. It was everything he could do to push back the waves of darkness that threatened to envelope him.

"Deuce!"

Caleb winced as the younger hunter's distress echoed loudly around their tiny space. "Whatever you're doing, stop! Just talk me in," he ordered, hating how his voice cracked.

"Marco."

"Very funny, Deuce," Caleb growled, stepping close to a pile of wooden planks. He cursed his lame arm for how long it took to carefully remove them, and worried when Dean didn't seem to try and offer any help. The pained gasps and whimpers was enough to let him know he'd at least reached the right location. He was grateful that Dean was propped sitting up as he splashed through a fairly deep puddle of ice cold water.

His relief at finding his friend was short lived.

Even without the flashlight, Reaves could see the blood that covered the entire right side of Dean's face from a deep gash on his forehead along the hair line. His left arm was twisted in a way that had to mean it was broken, the indent on he could see through Dean's layers of clothing showed at least half his rib cage had all but collapsed.

But that all seemed minor in comparison to the pieces of rebar that were sticking through Dean's right shoulder and left abdomen. Moving the beam down the dirty body, he could see another piece sticking up through Dean's right leg, scarily close to his knee. The leg itself was bent slightly, but it didn't seem to be broken.

"Oh shit, Deuce," Caleb whispered, looking back up to the blinking eyes, knowing the horror of what he was seeing had to be reflecting back at the boy.

"You okay?" Dean gasped, trying to draw in enough air to talk. Since his best friend couldn't seem to grasp the concept of doing as he was told, he decided there was no point in letting the other man know just how bad things were. He didn't need to be a doctor to know that there was some seriously messed up stuff going on inside.

"Me? Damnit, Dean," Caleb growled, but then saw the pleading expression and sighed. "Yeah, I'm okay."

"Don't... lie... to me."

"Nothing serious, I promise. How about you? And if you even think about saying you're fine I just might have to kill you." Reaves needed an honest assessment if they stood even half a chance of surviving this.

"Easier to... tell you what... doesn't hurt," Dean gasped, seeing no need to give Caleb the nasty details. Besides, he was pretty sure shock was covering the majority of it.

"Yeah, but it might help."

"Big toe... is feeling... pretty okay," Dean grinned, knowing Damien was looking for any sign that he couldn't feel his legs. Which he couldn't, but he could feel the frigid temperature of the water they were lying in, so that had to be good news.

Caleb sucked in a deep breath, nodding, accepting. "Can you move at all?"

Dean closed his eyes, remembering what had happened the last time he'd tried. "Pinned."

"Stay with me, Deuce," Caleb ordered, finding Dean's cold hand and giving it a squeeze. "We're gonna make it out of this."

"Can... you get... out?"

Reaves shot him a weak grin. "Trying to get rid of me already?"

"Already... tried. Stupid... ass didn't... listen." God it was hard to breathe.

Caleb licked his lips, a sure sign that he was panicking, but trying not to show it. He was so out of his depth here. "_I_ didn't listen? What the hell were _you_ thinking?" He knew what Dean was thinking. He would have done the same thing, but that wasn't the point. It was his job to protect the younger hunter, not the other way around.

"Was... thinking... can't... lose... another... brother."

Caleb wished he could convince himself that the lump in his throat was dust. He gave the boys hand another squeeze. "We're not losing anyone. We still have steaks with our names on them waiting for us, remember?"

He patted down his pockets, trying to find the cell phone. He wasn't overly shocked when he couldn't find it. Winchester's lady luck was a bitch. "Do you think you still have your phone?" he asked hopefully. He leaned over Dean, gently trying to find his, feeling every whimper as his hands skimmed damaged skin and bones.

"Back... pocket..."

Knowing he couldn't move his friend, Caleb put his hand on Dean's thigh, slowly inching his hand around his hip to try and reach the pocket without jostling his injuries. Dean cried out when his hand moved over a large gash.

Dean closed his eyes, trying to take deep breaths, wishing like hell Damien would just yank the thing and get it over with, even knowing how much that action was likely to hurt. Still, knowing Caleb would feel guilty for any additional pain, he mustered enough energy to smirk. "Sorry... Prince... charming. I... expect... dinner _before_... getting frisky."

Caleb extracted the cell phone as gently as he could, hearing Dean's hiss when it caught on his jeans. Caleb made the effort to grin. "Hey, I was _going_ to take you for dinner. Don't good intentions get you anywhere these days?"

"Road... to Hell. Which has... to be... better... than... here," Dean coughed, shivering violently, his face twisting with the pain of the multiple assaults.

Caleb looked at the phone he had finally relieved Dean of, silently swearing that if the Winchesters didn't have bad luck, they wouldn't have any at all. The phone was toast, crushed. The sigh from the young man let him know Dean had seen it too.

"It's okay. Johnny knows we're here."

Dean looked away from the bare thread of hope he could see Caleb clinging to, wincing as shivers ran through him, effectively setting off every one of his injuries. "I wouldn't... count on... Dad."

Caleb frowned. It was unusual for the younger man to say anything negative about the older hunter. Dean would always defend his father, even from friendly fire when needed. Which was, frankly, quite often. "Why not? I left him a message. He'll get it sooner or later."

Not willing to burden his friend further, Dean nodded, closing his eyes. "Tired."

"Sorry, Deuce. I'm willing the bet you have a pretty nasty concussion. No sleeping." The words fell on deaf ears. Dean was already unconscious. Caleb swore as he reached out a tentative hand to feel the younger man's pulse. It was weak and rapid, barely detectable by his fingers. He took off his jacket, and gently placed it over his friend to do what he could to hold off shock. Next he reached in and undid Dean's jeans, hoping to increase circulation since he couldn't lie him down.

His own heart nearly stopped when he saw the molten bruising on the kids abdomen. It was hot to the touch, despite the rest of the kid being cold and clammy. Caleb tried to swallow passed the lump that had once again taken up residence in his throat. That kind of bruising could only mean one thing. Dean was bleeding pretty heavily internally.

Caleb stood. They had to get out of here- fast.


	3. Not ready to let go

**AN:** I took some liberties with this. I figure, logically, that Sam's departure for college and John's burgeoning obsession must have affected Jim and Mackland. After all, they had gambled an awful lot on the three boys. The chance of losing them had to have brought up some discussions between them.

**SPN FW BR SPN FW BR THE TRIAD SPN FW BR**

"Are you sure about this?" Mackland Ames questioned for the third time since his arrival at the Kentucky farmhouse.

"I don't see as we have any other choice. We're losing them, Mackland," Jim Murphy replied seriously.

"John would never simply abandon his post as Knight," Mac defended weakly. Truth be told, he wasn't so sure anymore. As much as he loved the old bastard, he wasn't blind to his faults.

"I think we're both quite aware of the order of John Winchester's priorities. I very much fear we've already lost Sam."

"Dean would never-"

"No, he wouldn't, but could you do it? Could you sit down tomorrow and demand that he choose between The Brotherhood and his family?" Jim asked. The contrite expression answered his query, and he sighed. "Nor could I. Especially since deep down, I know what his answer would be. And it would kill the very thing that makes him unique." A Guardian was nothing without his heart, and Dean's would be empty.

"But isn't that exactly what we're talking about doing?" Mac played the devil's advocate. He sighed. They'd been over and over this same argument a thousand times over the past days. Sometimes it had been Jim pushing to tell the boys about their destiny, other times it had been Mac. "I just don't think they're ready, Jim."

Jim ran a hand through his already messy silver hair. Mackland wasn't wrong. "Then what do you suggest we do?"

"I know you've already enlisted Caleb's help with Dean. John- he'll do things his way, no matter what we do or say. As for Samuel- he's his father's son. The cards are already down, Jim."

"Is that your way of telling me to have faith?" Jim asked, one eyebrow arched in amusement.

"Trust our boys, Jim, that's all I'm saying." Mackland winced, rubbing a hand over his forehead.

"Headache?"

"It feels like something is driving a spike through my head. It's been going on for about an hour."

Jim frowned, and stood to pick up the phone. "Or someone."

Mac blinked. "You mean Caleb?"

"I've spent an hour trying not to give in to the sensation that someone was walking over my grave."

"If the boys were in trouble they'd have called John. He's closer. Caleb doesn't do well with distance."

Jim Murphy frowned as he hung up the phone. "There's no answer."

Mackland tried to shrug off the foreboding feeling that had come with Jim's admission. "John was never one to answer. And Caleb is a lightweight. He's probably passed out by now." Although he was certain that wasn't what Jim had had in mind when he'd called Caleb to check on Dean, Mac was no innocent. He had the credit card bills to prove what kind of 'therapy' his son would have administered to his best friend.

"But Dean knows better. He would have answered." He knew _that _for a fact- he'd discovered the young hunter would _always_ answer, no matter what- or who- he was currently involved in, much to both their embarrassment.

Mac winced. "I was trying to ignore that fact, thank you." He stood and started moving toward the stairs of the old farm house. "I'll get something of theirs, try and get a reading on them."

Jim nodded. He'd been a hunter for a long time, and knew it wasn't wise to ignore his instincts, which were right now blaring at him that his heir was in trouble. He continued to try the phone while the doctor was upstairs.

By the time Mac descended, a half an hour later, Jim was more than convinced it was time to go. That they were needed in Indiana. The expression on the other man's face confirming his instinct.

"I can't get a reading on Caleb, but if he's trying to call for help this far away, his abilities may be blocking me."

"And Dean?"

"He has his blocks up as well, but I get the impression of darkness, fear, cold."

"I fear we have to cut your small holiday short, my friend."

Mac nodded. "I've already booked our flights. I'll have Bobby meet me at the airport."

**SPN FW SPN FW SPN FW THE TRIAD SPN FW SPN FW**

Caleb tried to blink away the pain as his psychic call for help ate at the last of his reserves. With a gasp, he let it go, stumbling away to vomit, his one good arm barely holding him up as it shook. Once he was finished and the dizziness had passed, he sat, trying to breathe through his nose, cursing his useless abilities. It was the best he could do. He glanced down at his broken watch, knowing even as he did it was futile. He had no idea how long they had been trapped, but was very aware that every passing minute was one less Dean would live if they didn't get help soon.

He moved closer to his friend, praying the extra time between breaths was a figment of his imagination. Judging from the heat coming from the younger man, they had been here for hours. He'd also taken the time to make a quick splint for his ankle, using pieces of cable and wire as ropes. It had been difficult with one hand, but Mac's long speech of first aid rules were running non stop through his head. '_Always __make sure to take care of the rescuer, Caleb. It doesn't do anyone any good to have two victims_'. He'd done the best he could, with what he had.

"All those times I told you to shut up, Deuce, and now I'd given anything to hear you talk," Caleb whispered. His own thirst was giving him a pretty accurate timeline too. He'd already scouted every inch of their cage. There was no way out. It was a miracle they had as much room as they did.

From what he could tell, the entire building had come down on top of them, the falling floor the only thing to protect them from it. It also hadn't taken a genius to figure out that Deuce's fool attempt at sacrificing himself was the only thing that had saved Caleb's life. He'd had more control over his own fall. If he'd fallen directly from his position, he'd have half of the old factory on top of him.

"It was still a stupid thing to do, and I am so going to kick your ass for it as soon you're fit," Reaves warned the unconscious boy. He snorted, wiping away a trickle of blood from the corner of the younger man's mouth. "Who am I kidding? If we survive this I'll do your bidding for a month, and we both know it. So, what'll be this time? Maybe another trip to the Red Caboose? Yeah, I think I could go for that. It's been a while."

It was going to be a good long time before the other hunter was fully recovered. He'd already straightened the twisted arm, thankful he was wrong about it being broken, though the wrist was starting to swell. But he refused to let himself think on the alternative.

"Maybe we'll take in a Sox game? Johnny would never object to that. Not liking baseball is unamerican in his mind. We'll just have to play the patriotism card."

The puddle of water Deuce was sitting in didn't appear to be getting bigger, which he was thankful for, but it was damn cold down here. He couldn't tell if the temperature was actually dropping or if it was just him, but either way, hypothermia was going to be a big problem for both of them.

"I wish you were Sammy, that I could tell you stories of how the great dragons were going to swoop in and rescue us very soon. But you stopped believing in those stories a long time ago. Between you and me, I don't think you ever really did, that it was just another show you put on for the Runt."

With Sam gone, Dean had lost the ability to believe in anything. "It doesn't matter. I think I believe enough for both of us."

Caleb winced at the edge of agony that were creeping into his consciousness. His abilities were near fried, his continued attempts to call out for help leaving psychic shadows, pockets that occasionally picked up his connection to Dean.

"Help is coming, Deuce," Caleb promised. He'd started talking to the twenty two year old some time ago, as much to keep himself conscious and distracted as to try and wake him. "It won't be long now."

Dean groaned, which propelled Caleb as close to his best friend as he could get, automatically grabbing one hand. "Deuce?"

"D'm'n?"

"Yeah, I'm here. You need to open your eyes, okay?"

Dean was a little surprised at the effort it took to accomplish such a simple task. Had he overslept? No- his father would have woken him. Or Sammy. "S'm'y?" He felt like he was talking through a wad of cotton balls, and his throat burned with each attempt.

Caleb closed his eyes, then forced himself to smile at the confused boy, guessing the concussion had left some blanks. "He's not here." He prayed Dean didn't want him to explain. He wasn't sure he had it in him to add rejection to his current list of injuries.

Dean blinked. "Oh." He tried to move, to get up from his very uncomfortable position. Caleb was quick to put a light hand on his chest to stop him, but not before a surprised cry escaped him. "Wh?"

"You can't move, Dean. You're pinned, remember the fall?" Dean frowned, desperately trying to get his foggy mind to work, to remember. "The factory?"

"Bogus... recon...," Dean gasped out, the clues helping to fill in the blanks. The fog was clearing, for the moment, enough to explain why he felt like living hell. "Cold."

"Yeah, I know. But I need you to try and stay awake, okay? We're damn lucky you woke up this time."

Dean nodded slowly. "Can't... breathe."

Caleb was worried, hell, to be honest he'd passed worried eons ago, and had moved directly into absofuckinglutely terrified. The short answers weren't helping. "You've got some busted ribs. The lengths you'll go to to avoid a little work."

"Not a... hunt... Damien."

"What do you mean?" He was a little worried Dean couldn't seem to keep the memory of the fall in his mind.

"Dad... just... wanted to... bust..." Dean started coughing, choking on the blood building up in his throat. Caleb wrapped his hand around his throat, moving only his head and chin enough to clear his airway by spitting as much as he could out. He was determined not to freak when he recognized the liquid was frothy.

"Easy, Deuce. I get it," Caleb offered gently. "Johnny was being an ass."

He watched as Dean struggled to catch his breath, determined not to look away from the sight of blood covering his best friend's lips and chin. It wouldn't be fair. Deuce couldn't escape it, and he wouldn't run either. He ran his hand through the blonde's blood soaked hair, trying to provide what little comfort he could. If _he_ was this scared, he could barely imagine what Dean was going through.

"Hey, you remember Sam's sixth birthday? At the farm?" They both needed a distraction.

"The... running... of the... pigs?"

"Yeah. Jim was babysitting them for one of his parishioners. Sam had decided he wanted to be a matador when he grew up. Your father wouldn't let him invite any of his classmates to a birthday party, so you rounded up all the kids from the other farms. You even set up a run for the pigs, and a pen for Sam to do his tricks in."

"Dad... was... pissed," Dean grinned at the memory. He remembered. Pastor Jim had even made Sam a red silk cape and attached an old sheet to a broom handle once he'd figured out what the boys were up to, his own special kind of blessing. He coughed again, wincing at the agony it shot through ever part of his body.

"He got over it. Even the great John Winchester couldn't stand up to Sam's puppy eyes and pout. Not to mention Dad's glare and Jim's sermon." Caleb didn't add that none of those had made a difference in the Knight's mood, despite their best efforts. Hell, _he'd_ even yelled at the man for being selfish, but it was like hitting his head against a brick wall. A not uncommon feeling when dealing with John.

No, it wasn't until John had demanded his usual 'what the hell were you thinking?' from Dean. It was the ten year old's simple and honest answer that stopped the raging bull dead in his tracks. '_Because Sammy needed it_'.

"Still... made... us... clean up."

Caleb shook his head. "How you got me involved I'll never know."

"So... much... for being... psychic."

"Yeah, so much for that," Caleb answered back, hanging his head. He felt the squeeze on the hand that was still holding Dean's.

"No matter... what... happens, I... know you tried."

Not hard enough. Dean was dying. Reaves didn't have to be a psychic to know that. If nothing else the fact that Deuce hadn't made fun of the hand holding told him that. He prayed his call for help had gotten through.

"We're not done for yet, Deuce. I left Johnny a message. He knows where we are." He frowned when Dean looked away, guilt shinning through the pain. "What is it?"

"Dad... he's been- different... since Sammy. He... drinks a... lot more."

Caleb frowned as he tried to process everything Dean was trying to tell him in as few words as possible. "You mean he sent us out on recon and then hit the bottle? Doesn't sound like him. He wouldn't leave us without back up."

"He knew... this place... was safe."

And all the pieces fell into place for the hunter. Johnny had known the factory was a bogus run. He'd also probably figured that once they were finished they'd ignore his order to report and head off to complete their plans. Bastard would have been right too, damn him.

"Shit."

"Yeah."

Caleb hesitated, but knew the question would eat him alive if he didn't ask. "Does he do that a lot? I know you've been hunting more by yourself. How often do you go in without backup just to protect his dirty little secret?"

Dean closed his eyes. He was too tired for this. And if Caleb was offline, then he sure as hell wasn't going to tell him anything that would give him ammo in his war against John Winchester. "Thirsty."

Caleb nodded, once again realizing he'd put Dean in a bad spot. It didn't matter. The fact that the kid couldn't immediately come to his fathers defense against the accusation told him all he needed to know. And much more than he wanted to know.

"Hey, eyes open, sunshine," Caleb ordered, noticing Dean was fading on him.

"'M sorry..." Dean's head rolled a little. Reaves panicked.

"Deuce, please, stay with me," he pleaded, knowing in his gut that he needed to keep the boy awake for as long as possible. He reached to give a gentle slap to the fevered cheek. "Yes, that's it. Open up, Sleeping Beauty."

His muscles trembled under the strain of the overpowering relief that flowed through him when Dean forced his eyes open once more, coughing, his whole body jerking with the force of it. Caleb grasped a handful of Dean's now bloody shirt when tears of pain leaked out of the glazed green eyes.

"I'm sorry, so sorry," Caleb whispered. "I'm not ready to let you go yet." He was being selfish. He knew it, knew on some level a true friend would let the younger man fall into unconsciousness, death, to keep him from struggling through one more minute of the agony so clearly written in every feature. "I'm sorry." He wasn't strong enough. Wasn't ready to give up hope.

He started when he felt Dean's fingers lightly trace the faint scar on the palm of his hand. He remembered slicing it to protect Dean from Duran Hughes, essentially making them blood brothers in order to save his soul. It was a gentle reminder of what they were willing to sacrifice for one another. "'S'okay... not... yet."

Caleb decided that the sob that escaped him was permitted when your best friend had just promised to suffer through hell on your account. Chick flick be damned.


	4. Please Stay

**AN:** Chapter 4 gave me some difficulties... I wrote the story as one big file and then am breaking it down into chapters as new docs by copying the desired chapter. For some reason, Open Office has decided to give me a hard time, forcing me to get creative. So please forgive any formatting issues.

Also, I've changed my mind. I've decided to make it one story, instead of two... for now. So, chapters will keep coming and I'm forced to withdraw my statement that the story is finished. But don't worry, I'm doing pretty well at keeping at least three chapters ahead of posting. In penance for my change of mind, I'll double post this weekend! Forgive me now?

**SPN FW BR THE TRIAD THE FALL CHAPTER 4 SPN FW SPN FW BR THE TRIAD THE FALL CHAPTER 4**

Mackland crumbled the piece of paper in his hand, having torn it off the motel dresser mirror. "It says he's found another lead and Dean could meet him when he decided to check his priorities."

Bobby Singer swore, dropping to his knees to look under the bed. He pulled out Dean's duffel bag. "Dean's weapons are still here. He hasn't been back."

Mac ran a shaking hand through his peppered hair. Caleb was calling out to him again, close enough for the hunter to pick up on his sons desperation, pain, and grief. "We have to find them- soon."

Bobby stood, making for the door to the motel. "I'll go talk to the clerk, see what he knows."

Mac sorted through the room, hoping to find any indication of where John had sent the boys. Cursing when he found nothing. The Winchesters were good at keeping their business to themselves. Especially John. He loved the man like a brother, but if anything happened to either boy- there would be no safe place on this earth for the Hunter to hide.

This was going too far. He had no doubt the man was trying to prove a point- to all of them. Sending Caleb had been a mistake, he knew that now. John didn't want their help, and he sure as hell didn't want them to have any more influence on his remaining son. It wasn't the first time he had tried to put the Triad in their place, and Mac knew for a fact John blamed The Brotherhood for his loss of Sam, for their encouragement. A betrayal in the stubborn man's eyes.

Everyone was suffering from Sam's departure, and it hadn't happened the way it was supposed to, but even as forgiving as Mac was, he couldn't help but understand that the ultimate betrayal had come from John, himself. Running from his own inability to deal with the pain of Sam's harsh cut had left the entire Triad vulnerable. And now, to endanger the boys out of stubborn pride- Mac hadn't thought his brother capable. He thought their dysfunctional little family was more solid than that. And now it all seemed to be coming apart.

He was broken from his thoughts as Bobby returned. "The clerk said the truck left around eleven this morning. He noticed the Impala pulling out around seven last night."

Mac looked at his watch. It was almost nine o'clock at night. The boys had been missing for over twelve hours. "Get Dean's journal out of his duffel bag. I'm going to try and see if I can track them from here."

Bobby frowned as he found the object, handing it over. "I thought Caleb was blocking you?"

"No, he's just interfering. But he's obviously hurt or he would have been able to connect with me directly," Mac explained. "Besides, I'm not tracking him, I'm tracking Dean."

"If he isn't connecting to you, then how do you know the boys are in trouble?" Bobby questioned.

"You know that headache you've been battling for the last fifteen minutes?" Bobby nodded. "That's Caleb's version of a general distress call. He's merely broadcasting. It means he can't focus on any one connection."

Bobby sighed as he caught on. "If he can't focus, it means he can't keep it up for long." Which would explain the intermittent headaches of the last day. "Damn. His APB could have just about anything knocking at their door."

"He's desperate."

The two hunters exchanged a quick look. If Caleb was desperate enough to send out a buffet here signal then that could only mean one thing.

"I'll clean out the room and check them out."

Mackland wasn't paying attention, already focused on the journal in his hand.

**SPN FW SPN FW THE BROTHERHOOD SPN FW SPN FW**

Caleb winced, his hand going to his head. It was no use. His abilities were fried, and his reserves were fading quickly. His own injuries were demanding their share of his attention. His constantly running nose let him know just how cold he was getting. It was getting harder to ignore the tingling pain coming from his frozen fingertips.

Then there was Dean. The younger hunter was still conscious, by some miracle, but it was clearly coming at a high price. He spoke only rarely, choosing instead to concentrate on breathing in between violent rounds of coughing. Caleb wished he could let him keep silent, but the rough, broken voice was the only thing letting him know the boy was still with him. After the previous hours of quiet, it was golden.

"You... okay?"

Reaves moved closer to his friend. "It's a little cold. And I think I've decided to order two steaks when we get out of here," he quipped, shivering.

Dean closed his eyes. Even if help arrived in the next second, he knew it wouldn't be soon enough for him. "Sounds... good..."

"Eyes open, Winchester," Caleb ordered. It would have been a great John Winchester impression if his voice hadn't cracked. He'd been talking for hours without any water. Their list of problems just kept getting longer with each minute that passed. The emotional strain of being helpless while he watched his best friend die probably wasn't helping either.

"Still... here.."

"Good. I don't like to eat alone."

"Right."

"You know, this one sided banter bit is really working for us. I kinda like it." He hated it. His banter with Dean was so much a part of their communication, of their relationship. Somehow, it always let him know things weren't as bad as they looked. He missed it. Hated that things were every bit as bad as they looked right now. "I always win this way."

"You'll... miss... it..."

Caleb frowned. "No, I won't, because you're going to be fine. We're going to get out of here, and then we're going to forget all about these little chick flick moments."

"'Cause... you say... so?"

"Damn straight! I'm the senior hunter in charge, and what I say goes."

"Hunter's... Manual."

"It's in the fine print. Trust me, it's there."

"Senior..."

"No cracks about my age, Kid. You're not that much younger than me."

"Better... looking... though."

"Not at the moment."

"Chicks... scars..."

"That's right. We're going down in a blaze of glory, remember? Not some shit hole in the middle of nowhere on a useless hunt. With plenty of damsels in distress to mourn our passing."

"Sammy..."

"Sam is going to be our legacy. He's going to tell our story. We'll be immortal through him."

"He... called..."

"What?"

"Said... he made... a mistake."

Caleb swallowed. "And what did you tell him?"

"That he... would be... fine."

Caleb shook his head. "Damnit, Deuce." It must have been like slicing his own wrists. It was just one more thing to prove Dean was stronger than any of them gave him credit for. Because Caleb was pretty damn sure if the roles had been different, if it had been Dean who suddenly took off and cut them out of his life, then called practically begging to come home, he would have arranged the flight, met him at the airport.

"Don't... call... him."

It took a minute for Reaves to absorb what Dean was asking. "That's not fair to Sam."

"I... won't drag... him back."

"He deserves to know. It's going to take some time for you to get back on your feet."

"Promise." Dean didn't figure recovery was going to be an option.

"I can't. Hell, fuck that- I _won't_!"

"Damien... please... Sam'll blame... himself. Not... his fault."

Fuck if Deuce wasn't right. Sam would blame himself for not being there, then it would turn into a colossal war because then Sam would blame John.

"Fine, I promise, but only because you'll never recover with the two of them fighting. But so help me, Deuce, if you die, the next phone call I make is going to be to him." It was the best compromise he could make.

Dean nodded, closing his eyes once again. The short conversation had drained him. He wished he could spare the breath to reassure his friend. He gritted his teeth as another, stronger, muscle spasm ripped though him. So far he had managed to spare Caleb the knowledge that they were happening, but nothing could have stopped the scream that was ripped from his throat as his body was torn up from the inside out.

"Deuce!" Caleb put his injured hand on Dean's fevered forehead, the other on his thigh to keep him from moving as the hunter tried to arch away from the pain. "You gotta stay still, Dean."

"Hurts," Dean ground out, bringing about a violent coughing fit that only added to his misery.

Caleb didn't spare the energy to try and hide the tears he could feel on his face. "I know. You just have to ride it out."

"Can't."

"Yes, you can! You don't get to check out yet!" he snapped, his own helplessness and frustration translating into anger. "Sam still needs you!" If Dean had anything left to fight with, it would be for that reason.

"Sorry... Damien..."

"No! Not yet! You promised! Stay with me, Deuce, please," Caleb begged, feeling the body beneath his hands suddenly go still. He moved his fingers to check for a pulse- and barely found one. The wet sounds coming from his chest let him know Dean was still breathing, for now.

It didn't matter. His only hope of keeping the boy alive had been to keep him awake, fighting. There was nothing stopping him now from slipping away. Reaves couldn't even be angry with the kid. Dean had lasted longer than most would have, had done his best to give them a chance.

Every sense he had was suddenly overloaded by the grief that had wrapped it's way around his heart. He couldn't breathe. Couldn't stop the sobs wracking his shivering body. Hell, he didn't want to. He was exhausted, the hours they had been trapped, the hopelessness that had been slowly creeping up on him, finally overwhelming him.

He lowered his forehead to Dean's uninjured shoulder, his fist tightly grasping the shredded shirt, as if he could keep Dean with him that way. If he didn't let go, maybe Dean wouldn't either. "Please, just stay," he choked.

He let the darkness that had been swirling around the outside of his consciousness take over.


	5. A Promise Made

**AN: **Here we go, Ch 5. I would like thank all of you who read and reviewed!

For those who were wondering about how help came, well, I did a ton of research to figure out how to go about it. Unfortunately, it would have involved a lot of drawn out detailing that would have been, well, boring, considering both boys are unconscious. So, I hope you'll accept my compromise.

For those of you who are fans of John- I don't write John very well at all. But, once again, I figured that John doesn't do well with Sam's departure. He's never been the type to reach out for help. So, he would have kept a lot of it inside, feeding his obsession. We've already seen in '_The Company of Dragons_' that John is more than willing to throw Dean under the bus, ignore him, and generally forget he exists. I see Sam's leaving as much the same situation. So. There's my rationale.

For any who haven't read **Ridley's** amazing fic "**In The Company of Dragons**", it can be found at **The Hunters Tomb**, as can all of her and Tidia's amazing Brotherhood AU stories.

Once again, I've tried very hard to stay within the characters Kripke, Ridley and Tidia have created- allowing for the intense situation and some interpretation.

**SPN FW BR THE TRIAD SPN BR FW THE FALL CHAPTER 5 SPN**

Caleb groaned, his body forcing him to admit it was awake. God, he hurt in places he hadn't even known existed. The first clue of where he was came with the steady beeping that matched his heart rate. The second was the nauseating ammonia smell that could only be found at a hospital. A twitch of his hand felt the pull of the IV.

"Caleb?"

He knew that voice. It sounded worried. A part of him wanted to answer, to automatically reassure, but a bigger part of him, the one that was remembering the last hours of hell on earth, wanted to sink back into his grief. Help had come, but had it been too late?

"Son, you need to wake up."

Mackland winced at the tears that were coming from the corners of his sons eyes. He supposed it was too much to hope for at least a short reprieve. He held his breath until Caleb forced his eyes open, scanning the room until they locked on him. Only then did Mac allow himself a sigh of relief, despite the raw pain reflecting back him from those amber eyes.

He reached over to grab a glass of water off the nightstand next to the hospital bed, holding up the straw so Caleb could take a small sip.

Feeling the straw at his lips, Reaves eagerly took a drink, frowning when it was immediately removed.

"Just a little for now, Caleb. We'll let it settle and then you can have more," Mac explained.

"Deuce?"

"Caleb-"

"I see our boy is awake!" Pastor Jim announced as he entered the room, a grin on his face. "It's good to see you at long last." Sometimes Mac wondered if the Guardian didn't hide a few of his own psychic abilities. Jim's timing was legendary- and always when needed most.

Reaves frowned. "Long last? How long was I out?" He ran a quick self assessment, finding that he felt like ass, his mouth tasted like ass, and he wanted desperately to go back to sleep, but overall, not bad. A quick test found his abilities were still clouded, though, which meant his father had him on the good stuff.

"Two days," Mackland replied, sending a quick glance to the Pastor. He appreciated what Jim was trying to do, but no amount of distractions were going to keep his son from needing the answer to his loaded question.

"What? Why?" Caleb winced, wishing his throat wasn't so raw.

"You had mild hypothermia, some bruised ribs, a mild concussion, your ankle is broken and your shoulder sustained some heavy swelling and damaged tendons. Not to mention you were dehydrated and exhausted," Jim frowned. "I should think you've earned a couple of days rest."

Caleb glanced anxiously between the two, wishing he could read them. He understood Jim was trying to delay him, tire him. He had seen the tactic used many times on Sam whenever Dean was hurt. It was well used, whether the boy was at deaths door or had a mild concussion, and didn't give him any clues as to the younger hunter's condition. He wasn't in the mood for a game of cat and mouse.

"Someone is going to tell me about Dean, or I'm going to get up and find out myself," he growled.

"You're attached to a lift for your ankle," Jim pointed out, a little irritated that the Scholar wasn't participating in his distraction. "You won't make it far."

"Try me."

"Son, we're not trying to avoid telling you anything. We just think you need some rest," Mac explained gently, wanting to be honest with his son.

Reaves turned pleading eyes to his father. "Please, Dad, I have to know."

"Jim, can I have a moment?" Mac requested. This was going to be hard- he didn't want his son to have to feel as though he had an image to maintain in front of The Guardian.

"Of course."

"Dad-"

"Dean is alive. Before I tell you anything else I want your word as a hunter, as the future Knight, and as my son, that you will not sign yourself out AMA," the Scholar demanded. "You won't be able to help him and it could set your own recovery back."

"You're scaring me." But Dean was alive. Anything else could be overcome. Death was a deal breaker.

"Your word."

"I swear."

His concerns as a father relieved for the moment, Mac sat on the edge of Caleb's bed, his hands clasped in front of him. "As I said, he's alive. That in itself is a miracle."

Caleb licked his lips. "He was coughing a lot. I kept his leg still, but the rebar in his shoulder and stomach- I couldn't keep him still."

"None of this is your fault, Caleb. You kept him alive for sixteen hours with no medical supplies. I dare say I would have failed to do the same." Mackland ran a hand over his mouth. "Most of his problems didn't come from those two bars. There were two other bars that didn't go all the way through."

Reaves paled. "He didn't tell me." Then he got angry. "Sonofabitch didn't _tell_ me." It was easier to be mad at Deuce than it was to think about the implications of what his father was saying. Had Dean held back? Purposely not told him in order to spare him extra worry? It wouldn't be the first time and Caleb was deciding it was a habit Dean needed to break.

"I don't think he knew. The amount of pain Dean had to have been in must have been unimaginable. I doubt he could have pin pointed exactly where each source was coming from," Mac soothed. He didn't feel the need to gloss it over. Caleb had been there through every minute of it.

"Give me the list- but, uh, dumb it down a little, huh? I'm not up to translating medical jargon right now," Caleb requested.

Mackland nodded, understanding his sons desire to know exactly what had happened to his friend. It was Caleb's way of taking action when he was forced to remain still. Facts, he could deal with. A generalized knowledge that Dean was injured would only conjure horrible imaginations.

"The basics are simple enough. A moderate concussion, moderate hypothermia, dehydration, severe blood loss, shock was also a factor, though you seemed to somehow keep that under control," Mackland listed. "Where the rebar entered his shoulder caused some muscle and tissue damage, but thankfully it was a clean puncture. His rib cage was severely compromised-"

"Dad!"

"The left side of his rib cage was shattered, several pieces of bone puncturing both his lungs. The rebar that entered through his back at an angle and protruded through his stomach skimmed his small intestines. It's a small tear, and was easily repaired."

"There was internal bleeding," Caleb whispered, the long list of injuries making him feel nauseous, but he wouldn't ask his father to stop. He needed to know if he was going to help.

Mac nodded, taking a deep breath. "One of the two pieces of rebar that didn't go all the way through punctured his spleen. Some of the internal bleeding was from blood vessels damaged when his rib cage collapsed. It did, however, look worse than it actually was. There was severe bruising on his abdomen, as well as bruised abdominal muscles. His wrist is broken in three places."

Caleb swallowed, thankful when Mac allowed him another small sip of water. "His leg?"

"It's messed up."

"Messed up?" Reaves echoed, slightly amused by the uncharacteristic terminology.

"You said no medical mumbo jumbo. His knee took a lot of damage. I've flown in specialists from around the world- the best of the best. It's going to take a lot of time, and some serious rehab, but it will eventually heal. He's feverish and fighting several nasty infections."

"Anything else?"

Mackland snorted. "That's not enough?" He sighed, regretting to automatic sarcasm. "It's going to take a very long time for him to recover, Caleb. He's got several surgeries in his future, and he's on a ventilator now. We need to give his lungs as much time to heal as possible."

Caleb licked his lips, knowing he had to ask, but dreading the answer all the same. "Will he ever hunt again?"

"I wish I had that answer, Son, but we just don't know at this point. The fact that Dean is alive is more of a miracle than you'll ever understand. The human body- as amazing as it is- has it's limits. Dean reached them, and then pushed his luck even more."

"Sounds like Deuce."

"He's got a very long ahead of him, Caleb. I need you to understand that because it's going to be painful, heartbreaking, and frustrating. We can't protect him from that." He knew his son well enough that he felt he had to make a point, knowing even before he said it the reaction it was going to get. "We can make ourselves available to help him, but we can't stop our lives to do it." He loved Dean like a son, but he didn't want Caleb to lose everything he had worked so hard for. It could take months for Dean to recover.

Caleb growled, low in his throat, his demeanor darkening as he understood what his father was trying to tell him. "I _will_ be there every step of the way through his recovery, do you understand? TriCorp, The Brotherhood, and the rest of the world can go to hell for all I care. Deuce is- always has been, always will be- my first priority!"

"He wouldn't want-" Mackland started carefully, trying to make his son understand. There were other people who loved Dean too, who would be willing to help him. Caleb had worked hard for his independence in both the business and hunting world. He didn't want this to set him back. He didn't mean to sound cruel or heartless, but he knew from past experience that a recovery like this needed two things- support and space. Support he was positive his son could offer. Space was something altogether different.

"Don't you dare tell me what Dean does or doesn't want! Not you! Do you know how long I've been after you and Jim to step in? To help him before John got out of control?" He took a deep breath. "Dad, I love you, more than my emotional disability will ever let you know, but don't ask me to step back from this," Caleb warned. "Don't make me choose between him and you."

_Because you won't win_, was left unsaid, but heard just as clearly. It was rare for the Ames men to find themselves at odds, and Mackland could see how much it was hurting his son. But better than anyone, he understood what Dean meant and represented to Caleb. He reached over and gave his sons hand a squeeze, apologizing and forgiving all at once.

"I won't ever do that, Caleb, I swear. I just wanted to make sure you understood that you boys aren't in this alone. Now, get some rest. Tomorrow we'll talk about what happened."

"Is John here?" Caleb asked, stopping his father from leaving the room.

Mackland frowned, and shook his head. "We've left messages with him. He should be here soon."

"Keep him away from me," Caleb instructed, surprising his father. "I won't be held responsible for my actions if he shows his face anywhere near me for a good long while."

"Caleb-"

"Tomorrow, Dad, I'll explain tomorrow. Have you called Sam yet?"

"Not yet. We wanted to stabilize his brother first. I was going to do it tonight."

"Don't."

"Dean-"

"Doesn't want Sam to know. I promised him, Dad, that I would leave Sam in the dark if he lived. He kept up his end of the bargain."

Understanding from the pain on the younger hunters face that this had been a discussion already had between the two boys, Mackland nodded. Caleb didn't like it either, but he had given his word.

"Rest."

**SPN FW BR SPN FW BR THE TRIAD SPN FW BR THE FALL CH 5 SPN**

"It was a promise made under what I would imagine to be extreme duress," Jim argued the next day. "Sam deserves to know what's happening."

"But it was a promise nonetheless." Mackland grimaced at the awful sludge that passed for coffee in a hospital. "Dean made his wishes clear."

Jim ran a hand through his silver hair, messing it even more. Honestly, Mac didn't understand why the older man bothered to brush it at all anymore. "But Dean will need Sam's support. All of our support."

"I think you're looking at the sum total of Dean's support system. Caleb won't leave his side, and as much as I've cautioned Caleb about it, I have to admit that I won't be far away either. I'd like to transfer him to New York as soon as he's stable enough to be moved. They have better facilities there to deal with this level of trauma."

Jim nodded. "As much as I would love to argue with you, to demand he convalesce at the Farm, the stairs are too steep, would be too difficult for his knee, and Louisville too far for him to travel for his rehabilitation sessions."

"Has there been any word from John?"

Jim frowned, looking as disappointed as Mac had ever seen. "Nothing. I've sent Bobby looking for him."

"Dr. Ames?" a pretty nurse called out, getting their attention. "Mr. Reaves is awake." She smiled. "And evidently feeling much better."

Jim and Mackland laughed, the moment much needed after that last few days of tension. "Thank you, Anna."

The two members of the Triad made their way to Caleb's room. They could hear the giggles of two nurses before they even entered.

Caleb was sitting up, offering his most dashing smile to the girls as they fussed about, fluffing his pillows and checking his vitals.

"That will be all, ladies," Mackland announced, stepping aside to allow them access to the door. They left, heads down.

Caleb frowned. "Buzz kill."

"I'm glad to see you're feeling better," Jim smirked as he sat down on the uncomfortable chair next to the bed while Mac perched at the end of the bed.

"Hmm, not sure- I think those lovelies need to come back in and check my vitals again," Caleb grinned.

Mackland shook his head. "Be good, Caleb, or I'll give instructions that only male nurses be allowed to work this room."

Caleb mocked a horrified expression, using his good hand to cover his heart as though his father had just stabbed him. "Et tu, Brute?"

"Caesar was stabbed in the back first, Junior," Bobby informed him as he entered the room, having just caught the tail end of the conversation. "You're holding the wrong body part."

Jim sighed, knowing the much needed levity had to come to a close sooner or later. "Did you find him?"

Bobby shook his head, leaning against the wall. "Not so much as a whisper. I'd like to know how he thought Bonnie and Clyde here were going to catch up to him if they didn't know how to find him."

"Dean knows," Caleb answered, frowning. "Hasn't he woken up yet?"

"We're keeping him sedated. The less stress on his body the better it will heal," Mackland replied, frowning. "How do you know Dean knows where John is?"

Caleb shrugged his good shoulder. "He knows how to find him. He's either in the know, or has this weird ass family tracking ability. He's found me when he needs to." So far Sam had been the only one to completely give Dean the slip the one time he ran away to Flagstaff. But to be fair, Sam had thought like Dean, knowing his brother wouldn't expect that.

"Are you feeling up to telling us what happened?" Jim asked.

Caleb nodded, knowing the debriefing was unavoidable. "I found them right where you said I would, Jim. John didn't like the plans I had made, so he sent us out on recon to this old factory. Supposed to be haunted. It was really, really old. Deuce took a wrong step, and the floor started to crack. I was standing a few feet away." He swallowed past the lump in his throat. "He tried to get me to leave, to go get help, but I couldn't leave him there, not like that. That floor was going to give way any second."

He met the eyes of the other hunters, trying to get them to understand. "When I wouldn't go, Deuce decided to play hero. The concrete wasn't cracking as badly over where I was. There was no way to get him off. No matter what we did, he was going down. He pushed down, forcing his section to go before mine got too bad. He saved my life."

Caleb took a steadying breath, reminding himself that Dean was, in fact, alive. "My section gave way a little slower, allowed me to control my fall better. We fell into the basement. When I woke up- well, it wasn't a pretty sight. After I found Deuce, I looked for a way out, but we were trapped. The rest, I'm guessing, is pretty obvious since someone found us. Your turn."

All three hunters understood that a lot more had gone on in that basement, but Caleb obviously intended to keep that between the two boys.

It was Bobby who answered Caleb's inquiry. "Long story short, we got your psychic APB- helluva risky move, by the way- and found you boys at the cannery. We called 911, Merlin left the castle, and here we are."

Caleb frowned. "911?"

Mackland nodded. "There was absolutely no safe way to extract you boys."

"We were lucky, got caught in what basically amounts to an air bubble," Caleb confirmed, as an architect knowing just how lucky they'd been.

"Even if we could have gotten in without them, we needed them to cut Dean out," Bobby explained, though without his usual bite. He didn't think the hunter needed to be told just how many times they lost Dean on the drive to the hospital.

"So when am I being released?" Caleb asked, shifting to test his level of soreness, guessing that his drugs had been reduced.

"In a couple of days. We're hoping by then Dean will be stable enough to transport. I want to take him to New York," the doctor answered slowly, expecting an argument. He was surprised when Caleb shot him a look of utter gratitude, understanding that no expense was being spared for Dean's care and recovery.

"My apartment is closer to the hospital." Caleb nodded. "If he can't be home, he should at least be where he's comfortable." He remembered when his father had presented him with the large apartment which he had bought him after his graduation from Auburn. He had been touched to see Mac had made sure there were three bedrooms. One for him, and one each for the Winchester boys. Sam had never seen it, and to be honest he had used that third bedroom for something else, but Caleb had made damn sure Dean had not only a key, but also the firm knowledge that one of those rooms was _his_.

Mackland hesitated, but remembered his earlier conversation with his son. As much as he wanted to keep Dean under his own very close medical eye, the boy would need some space from all of them. Of any of them, he understood the toll this kind of recovery could take on your pride. And the middle Winchester wasn't the type to have an epiphany and turn over a whole new leaf.

Jim stood, rubbing his hands together. "I brought apple pie and sweet tea for lunch."

As Caleb watched the others laugh and go to gather to forbidden meal, he found himself wishing for simpler days- when Jim's sweet tea really was a cure all.

Then he thought about how much worse this could have turned out. Maybe it had less to do with the sweet tea itself, and more to do with the strength provided by a gathered family. No, it wasn't going to be a cure- but it sure helped fuel them for the long road ahead.

**AN: **_Okay, so, just so no one is mixed up, the next chapters are going to cover Dean's recovery using time jumps, as otherwise it would be a very long, drawn out story. So I've chosen to highlight the more important moments. Hope that's okay._


	6. More Than Pictures

**AN: **Super long AN note in Ch5 covered just about everything. Enjoy!

**SPN FW BR THE TRIAD SPN FW THE TRIAD FW THE FALL RECOVERY VS.**

Caleb stood back at the door to the room to admire his work. After weeks in a hospital, he wanted Dean's room to be homey and welcoming. So, he'd done a little shopping. Metallica and LA Lakers Cheerleader posters were up, there were some of Deuce's favorite books on the shelf along with several DVD's, Red Sox pennants up. A stereo on the bedside table, and a flat screen TV and DVD player on the dresser at the end of the bed. Car magazines from as far back as Caleb could collect them sat in a box under the bed, along with several other more questionable mags.

The locked cupboard in the corner of the bedroom had already been loaded with the weapons from Dean's duffel bag and his journal. The true purpose of the cupboard hidden by a large Miss America Calendar.

But for all that the room was full of possessions, nothing else spoke of _Dean_. The leather jacket he'd had fixed and cleaned hung off the bottom post of the foot board. There was a baseball glove thrown on the window sill, but that really wasn't a part of Dean's life anymore. If anything, it was a painful reminder of all that he'd sacrificed.

"Caleb?"

He turned at his father's voice, surprised he hadn't sensed him come in. A quick scan of his father let him know his abilities were fine, finally back to normal. He'd just been lost in thought. Enough so that his father was practically right on top of him. "Dad."

Mac looked around the room. "Looks great."

"Yeah."

"What's wrong?"

"It's-" Caleb searched, not knowing the word he was looking for.

Mackland studied his son, seeing the sensitive artist that lay beneath the bluster and military attitude. He looked over the room once more, took in everything, and found the word his son was missing. "It's empty." Sam had his dragons and castle, Caleb his Three Musketeers book and ragged two of spades card. They weren't much, but they were a part of each of them.

Caleb turned soft amber eyes to his father, not understanding what he was silently asking for, but somehow begging his father to fix it. "Yeah."

"It's time to pick up Dean from the hospital. You can think on it then."

"How is he today?" Caleb asked, retreating to the kitchen to grab his keys and jacket.

"He's in a lot pain. Caleb, are you sure about this? It's going to be rough. Between the pain and the medication, Dean is- well, he's out of sorts," Mackland warned.

"Deuce in a bitchy mood? Nah, never had to deal with _that_ before," Caleb grinned. Seeing his father's serious expression, he sobered. "He saved my life, Dad." What more needed to be said?

"I'll have the CPM set up by the time you get back."

Caleb grimaced. "How long does he have to use that thing? It hurts him." He hated it, Dean hated it. It was painful, often leaving the younger man exhausted. The only kindness being that at least he was down to 30 minute sessions every three hours, whereas it had been a constant after the knee surgery.

"It's not the torture device you boys make it out to be. Dean will be able to walk with considerably less pain when he heals," Mackland recited, as he had done several times already. "Now go. He wants out and I can promise you he won't be happy if you're late."

**SPN BR THE TRIAD FW FW BR SPN FW BR THE TRIAD SPN BR FW**

Caleb had tried to stop being shocked whenever he saw his friend, but sometimes it was hard to remember that Deuce was, in fact, getting better, and not worse. He had lost weight, his complexion always pale that didn't help but enhance the dark circles under his eyes.

As the nurse wheeled Dean's chair out to him and the waiting Impala, Caleb had to force himself to admit that Deuce looked- fragile. It was a word he would have never before associated with the younger hunter. Broken- oh yes, in so many ways, but never fragile.

He was glad he had disregarded his fathers orders to take the Cutlass, a car with much more space for transportation. The way Dean's eyes lit up when seeing his baby was more than worth the lecture he was bound to get.

"Glad to see I'm going to travel in style," Dean grinned.

"Yeah well, for what this is going to cost me, you can at least agree to the backseat peacefully," Caleb replied.

"Damien-"

"Either the backseat or you can wait here a while longer while I get the Cutlass. Or better yet, we can go with Mac's suggestion and you can be moved in an ambulance."

Dean licked his lips. "Backseat," he agreed quickly.

Reaves had to force himself to stay where he was and not help while they began the slow and painful process of moving Dean into the backseat. He'd taken some courses in how to help Dean with movement, and anything else he might need, but whenever possible he was to let the professionals do it. The fear of making the younger man worse always stayed his frustration.

Once they were on the road, it was a quiet ride.

Dean stretched out in the back, enjoying the feel of his baby beneath him again. The freedom outside the hospital in which he had been a prisoner for five weeks. He knew there was still a long way to go, but he would take these few moments as his. He was thankful Damien seemed to understand.

It had taken a lot of convincing on his part to force the other hunter to leave him, to go do work for TriCorp, to hunt. There was life outside his hospital room and he was determined not to keep his best friend a prisoner with him. Caleb had loathed the idea, had ranted and raved, screamed and argued, begged, even, but eventually, as Dean knew he would, he'd caved. He hadn't gone far, never missed more than two days at a time to visit, but it had given them both some much needed space.

Five weeks. And still no word from his father. Mackland and Jim never gave up in trying to get him to tell them what he knew about his father's current location. They were kind enough about it, in fact seemed to pity him, but no matter how many times he told them he didn't know, they kept asking.

He _did_ know. Or at least knew how to find him. His father had patterns, habits that he stuck to religiously, even in his new state. Picking them apart to find the odd one out was easy enough. But he didn't feel the need to try.

John had made his opinion clear on where Dean stood in his life. He knew Caleb had left messages, knew the others had as well. He also knew, with stunning clarity, that once it was confirmed Dean was alive and healing, he wouldn't have bothered to call back. Not until he was finished with whatever he was working on. Not until Dean was ready to be back out in the field.

He loved his father dearly, and had accepted his role in their little family dynamic when he was a child, but it didn't stop the odd twinge of hurt and betrayal in situations like this. He felt bad, lying to the others. He knew they were concerned about John, about what trouble he might have gotten himself into. But Dean didn't have that feeling- that instinct- that told him whenever a member of his family was in serious trouble. So, for the moment, he was content to leave his father be. John would be found when he wanted to be, and not a minute before.

Dean was, however, a little worried by the fact that Caleb refused even mention his mentor's name. He regretted having told his friend about his Dad's latest behavior. He hadn't done it to be cruel- in fact, he would have preferred if the subject had never come up- but he wouldn't allow his friend the false hope of The Knight smashing in to rescue them.

"Don't, Deuce," Caleb growled from the front seat, glancing into the rear view mirror.

Dean frowned. "Am I projecting? Sorry." Normally he would have told his friend to stay the hell out of his head, but with the meds he was on- he wasn't entirely sure any reading going on was Caleb's fault.

Caleb sighed. "You're actually outputting a serious amount of energy to block me, but, Deuce, I- I can't-" He had watched his best friend practically die. He wasn't ready to let Dean out of his sight, or senses, for a minute. Not yet. He still needed that constant reassurance that Deuce was alive, breathing, and healing.

"It's okay," Dean forgave, understanding. He had the same habit in close calls, to keep those that he'd almost lost very close for some time. "So any new gossip?" He felt like he'd been out of touch with the world for a long time.

"Nothing report worthy. Though Bobby and Fiona are definitely on the rocks." He hesitated. "Boone passed along that he'd seen your father about two weeks ago, heading to Colorado after a werewolf."

'Your father' was always a bad sign. Dean sighed. "Have you told the others?"

Caleb shook his head. "Jim and Mac have the same contacts I do."

"You need to let this shit go, Damien. Dad didn't know what was going to happen," Dean defended automatically, despite his earlier thoughts.

Caleb glanced in the mirror again, meeting Dean's eyes. "Would you let it go if it had been Sammy that almost died?"

"Caleb-"

"When I'm ready, Deuce," Caleb offered tentatively. It was going to be quite some time before he was ready to forgive the bastard, but they both knew he would do it eventually. He loved the sonofabitch too much not to. "When I'm ready."

**7 7 8 9 9 9 0 6 6 6 0 6 6 6 0 9 9 9 0 6 6 6 6 0 6 6 6 6**

It wasn't until they had Dean settled in his bed that Caleb realized something that had changed about the room. Where before it was impersonal, it now screamed with Dean's presence. Looking around, he found what had made the difference. There were pictures thrown into random places around the room. There was one of the three of them, his and Dean's arms around each others shoulders with a shorter, smaller Sammy in front of them, glaring up at them as their free hands messed up his hard. Another was of Jim, Mac and John, standing in front of the farm. There were other single pictures strewn about, Caleb and Sam primary characters, though a couple of John, Mac and Jim respectively.

His eyes were drawn to the one on the bedside table. It had John and Dean both with their heads stuck under the hood of the Impala while Sam stood next to it, Woo Bee in one hand, a wrench in the other. They were all smiling. Caleb remembered the day he had taken it.

Sammy had dragons and a castle, Caleb had an old, battered copy of the Three Musketeers and a faded card, but Dean- all he'd ever had was his family. Nothing material had ever mattered.

"Caleb, Dean needs to rest," Mac reminded him gently.

Caleb nodded, realizing Deuce was already out for the count. They backed out of the room, heading to the kitchen to start making some supper. Dean would be on a very careful diet for the next little while. He thought about the picture, a single moment of happiness and simplicity captured forever, before it all disappeared. Before the past came to bite them all on the ass. Before Sammy got too old to want to be just like his father and brother.

Without stopping to think, Reaves threw his arms around his father. "Thank you."

Surprised, Mackland returned the hug, gripping the back of the young man's neck. "For what?"

"For giving me more than a few pictures."

He understood what they meant to Dean- he really did. There wasn't anything he wouldn't give for his fucked up little family, but his identity wasn't reliant on them. He'd always known he was lucky to have been found by Mac, always appreciated it, but it wasn't until just a few moments ago that he realized he'd been given so much more than a father and a trust fund.

He knew, without a shadow of doubt, that he was loved. That he could leave to find himself, his own path, and still come back to find little had changed, that his position would never be threatened. That no matter what he did, or didn't do, he would always be forgiven. Had Deuce ever had that?

Mackland sighed. "I was trying to help."

"You did. That's the sad part."

**SPN BR FW THE TRIAD SPN FW BR THE TRIAD SPN BR FW**

Dean wasn't surprised to see Caleb sitting in the arm chair next to his bed when he woke up. He blinked, trying to get his eyes to focus. It wasn't an easy task these days. The medications he was on had a few nasty side effects, and he hated how clouded they made his mind.

He felt Caleb wrap his hand around a glass of water, and sipped it, both boys pretending to ignore the shake in Dean's hand, as they had done in the hospital.

"Thanks." Dean handed the glass back, hating to be fussed over but knowing he wasn't capable of twisting to put it back on the side table just yet.

Caleb nodded, sitting back. "Mac's gone home, but he's left dinner on the stove. Chickpea soup."

Dean rolled his eyes. "Can't wait." He'd already been warned that his diet would pretty much suck for a while. He didn't think it was fair since no one had any objections to the apple pie Jim had brought him. If he could eat that, he was pretty sure a burger wasn't too much to ask for.

Caleb grinned. "Of course, it _is _your first night home. I think it should be marked by something a little better. I've ordered us some pita sandwiches from down the way."

Dean smiled. "Now that's more like it."

"If you're up to it- if not, maybe Mac's idea isn't so bad."

"Quite rambling, Demon Boy. Since when do we ever follow Doctor's orders? It's not like it's a pizza. A mango grilled chicken pita loaded with rabbit food I'm sure you intend to force me to eat is healthy enough." He hated that Caleb seemed nervous around him. "No different than any other injury, Damien."

Caleb stood. "This time, Deuce- god, you have no idea how close it was."

Dean settled back. This had been coming for weeks. He was thankful his friend had waited until they were both somewhere comfortable, private, to do it. "Not the first time I've almost died."

"Believe it or not, the near death thing wasn't the scariest." Not after he knew Dean was going to be okay. In the basement- whole different story.

"They didn't know if I'd ever hunt again."

Surprised, Caleb looked over at the younger hunter. Damn it was easy to forget how perceptive Deuce was when he wanted to be. And how easy it was for him to keep those thoughts to himself until needed. "Yeah."

"Would that have changed anything? Between us, I mean," Dean asked, curious. The question had been weighing on his mind ever since Jim had made a point of avoiding any hunting related questions. Mac had been little better, always saying 'let's worry about tomorrow, tomorrow'. But Caleb couldn't even meet his eyes, always a bad sign. More than anything, that had scared him.

Shocked, Reaves shook his head. "No. And don't give me that look. I've had a lot of time to think about it. Not because I knew you were going to ask, but because it was a question I had to answer for myself."

"And what did you find in this journey of self enlightenment, Yoda?"

"That you're a pain in the ass for one. You probably don't remember, but I promised I was going to give you hell for that fucking dumb ass move you pulled at the factory." It was a moment he relived in his nightmares over and over again. Every minute of that sixteen hours spread out into eternity. Except in his nightmares, when he reached for a pulse, he didn't find one.

"Would do it again."

"I know. And fuck if I don't want to strangle you for it."

"Now's a good time to do it. Mac's got me on the good stuff," Dean grinned, tilting his chin a little to expose his neck.

"Deuce," Caleb implored, making it clear he was trying to be serious, even as the corners of his mouth twitched, wanting to smile.

"What? We both know you would have done the same. You can't stand there and be a total hypocrite and expect to get away with it," Dean pointed out. "Pot and kettle."

Caleb sat back down. "So, how are you doing with all this?"

Dean resisted the urge to shrug. Heavy duty drugs or no, it would have hurt. "I'd feel a lot better if everyone would stop fussing. And I think my past history of being a model patient speaks for itself."

"I think you're going to have to put up with the fussing for a while longer. Just be glad Dad finally convinced Jim to go back to farm," Caleb snorted. Shepard of lost sheep his ass- the man was a mother hen!

"They still don't know if I'm going to be able to hunt, do they?" Dean asked quietly.

Caleb had never lied to his friend. He wouldn't start now. Dean didn't have a tendency to ask questions he didn't truly want the answers to. "No. You're healing up just fine on the inside, better than Mac expected. But your knee- it was really messed up. Mac's pretty sure you'll walk again, but he's not willing to say more than that."

"It's a start, at least."

"I'm sorry, Deuce."

Dean didn't need to be a mind reader to know where Caleb's thoughts were. "Don't be. Even knowing what I do now, if I could go back, I'd do the same. Although I think I'd make you buy those steaks before we went to the factory," Dean grinned. "Which you still owe me, by the way."

Caleb swallowed, understanding more than he wanted to. Yes, he'd still save Caleb's life. And yes, he still would have followed orders and gone into the cannery to begin with. It was Dean's acceptance that this would have happened no matter how the night played out. This course had been set the minute Reaves stepped foot on that motel doorstep. It was a fact they'd both have to deal with.

"You'll get them if I have to smuggle you out," Caleb promised. "And no- no matter what happens, nothing will ever change between us, Deuce."

"Good. I'd miss making your life miserable."

Caleb laughed, and just like that, another part of Dean healed.


	7. Not Exactly Open Arms

**AN: **Okay, fair warning, I already said I suck at writing John. Please don't hate me!

**SPN BR THE TRIAD SPN BR FW THE FALL CH 7 SPN FW BR**

"You okay?"

"I won't be if you ask that inane question one more time," Dean growled.

"Huh, Mac make you read a dictionary while you were recovering, Deuce?" Caleb grinned. A small thrill ran up his back as he helped Dean into the kitchen, balancing him from one side while the cane balanced the other. Dean had been right. He'd missed their banter. Even if it wasn't quite up to pre-Sam, it was still a damnsight better than silence.

"At least I know where the dictionary is, Lucifer."

"Boys!" Mac growled, having had about enough of their antics. He was as happy as his son that Dean's recovery was going so well. It was a testament to how strong the younger hunter truly was. But he wasn't even close to one hundred percent yet, and he worried that Caleb's excitability would tire the boy. "How are-"

Dean held up a hand to stop him. "You ask me how I'm feeling or if I'm okay and I swear to god that I will walk out of here."

Remembering how much the twenty two year old hated being fussed over, Mackland quickly changed what he was going to say. "How are those Sox doing?"

Caleb snorted. "Real smooth, Dad."

Dean smiled, feeling appeased by the effort. "How are those steaks coming?"

"It's not steak, Dean, as you well know. We're having salmon tonight. Red meat is still strictly off your diet."

"Yum."

Caleb grinned. "It's not so bad. Be thankful I managed to talk him out of liver and onions."

Dean shuddered dramatically. "I owe you my life, man."

Mac shook his head. "Liver is extremely high in iron and proteins. It's a fine dish."

Caleb frowned suddenly, looking toward the door, then glared at his father. "You told him?"

"Caleb-"

But the younger hunter was already making his way into the front room. Dean glanced at the doctor, seeing the guilty expression, correctly assessing the situation. "Dad came back."

Mackland nodded. "He called last night."

Dean sighed. "You'd better get in there and referee."

"Caleb would never-"

"Caleb damn well would, and will." He knew that neither of them had told the full version of what had happened in that basement, had mentioned the confessions made. Mackland had no idea what was about to happen. "Seriously, go."

Mac moved to do as he was told, unsure but trusting, when he heard the shouting match begin. He hurried out, amazed to find his son holding John Winchester against a wall, his arm against the older man's throat.

"You sonofabitch! Do you have any idea what happened?"

"Let me go, Junior, or I'll put you on your ass so fast it'll make your head spin," John growled.

Caleb released his mentor, breathing heavily from weeks of pent up emotions suddenly breaking free. "Sure you still can? Alcohol can give you illusions of grandeur."

"A little respect, Private!"

"Respect? You want _respect_, Corporal?" Neither John nor Mac saw Caleb's fist move until it smashed into the marine's jaw, driving the older man to his knees with it's force. "How's that?"

"Caleb! What the hell?" Mackland demanded. "Stop!" he ordered as his son drew back for another.

"Back off, Reaves," John ordered sternly, getting to his feet. "Having your daddy here won't stop me from dropping you."

"Johnathan! That's enough! Both of you!" Mackland stepped in between the two, noticing that his son was shaking with his rage. "What is this about?"

"Ask him!" Caleb yelled, backing off before he killed the other man.

"Or better yet, ask me," Dean spoke up from where he was leaning on the wall. "It is, after all, me you're so upset about."

All three men turned to take in the appearance of the still very ill young man. Dean could barely walk without help, and the toll his little trip from the kitchen had taken was clearly visible.

"Ace-"

"I think you need to sit down, Dean," the Scholar interrupted, moving toward his patient, who looked ready to collapse at any moment. "Caleb, help me get him back to his room."

Both men moved at once, completely ignoring the man still standing at the door to the apartment. Both were worried when Dean didn't object, but instead let them lie him down on his bed, concentrating on breathing through the pain.

"Damn stupid, Deuce," Caleb sighed, wincing when he was forced to lift Dean's injured leg from the floor to the bed.

"So was taking on Dad."

Caleb moved out of the way so his father could take a look, make sure Dean hadn't stressed anything to the point of re-injury. It was yet another reminder of what had happened, that Dean wasn't fully healed. He felt his anger at the older Winchester surge again.

He turned when he sensed his mentor standing at the doorway of the room.

John shifted. "Is he okay?"

"What the fuck do _you_ care?" Reaves snarled, shoving past the man to leave.

Winchester frowned at the blatant disrespect and followed him. It didn't take long for the volume of their argument to reach the two in the room.

Mackland was concentrating on his patient, noticing that Dean was extremely distressed over the encounter, muscles shaking from the effort to stay, to not get involved. "I'm going to give you a sedative, Dean, is that all right? Just a light one. I need your body to completely relax, just in case you pulled some still healing tissue or muscle."

Dean nodded, closing his eyes as he felt the prick of the needle, welcoming the release it would bring from the pain. "Don't let them kill each other, Mac."

Mac ran a hand through the boys hair, noting it was longer than he usually preferred to keep it. "They will both be alive when you wake up." He winked. "Though I can't promise you won't find them bound and gagged."

**0 0 9 9 9 0 0 6 6 6 0 0 9 9 9 0 0 6 6 6 0 9 9 9 0 6 6 6 0 0**

The Scholar had had enough. He slammed his hand on the breakfast counted, bringing both men's attention to him. "I don't give a damn about whatever bone the two of you have, but you _will_ lower your voices, put your damn egos aside, and not disturb my patient any more than you already have. Do I make myself clear?"

Caleb nodded, swallowing his biting words. He'd never heard Mac swear so much. It was a good clue that he wasn't just angry- he was pissed. "Yes."

"Mac-"

"Shut up, Winchester! Just what did you expect would happen? Your son almost _died_, and you _finally_ show up, months later? Did you think we would all welcome you home with open arms? I don't care what you're going through, John, but to abandon that boy- I don't know how to forgive you for that."

Caleb was stunned, hadn't realized his father had been holding onto any anger toward Winchester. He had expected a royal dressing down from his father. He wasn't sure what to say anymore. His own issues with the Knight went so much deeper than that, but to hear normally diplomatic Mac bring the hunter down a few notches was a surprise. Mac might not have the greatest bedside manner, but damn if the man couldn't command a room when he wanted to.

"I was taking care of a hunt."

"Yeah right," Caleb mumbled, regretting it when his father's angry gaze turned on him.

"And just what is your problem?"

"He should have been here."

But The Scholar was taking no prisoners, allowing no secrets. "It's more than that."

"Another time-"

"No. Now."

Damn if his father wasn't making him feel all of five years old, and like any good five year old, he tattled for all he was worth, desperate to have the attention turned from him. He suddenly felt a kinship with little Sammy.

"John sent us on a bogus recon. I showed looking for a good time with Deuce and the Knight here decided our time was better spent looking into some old factory that he'd already checked out." It wasn't his place to reveal the fact that he had been sent. "When things went south, I tried to call him. He didn't answer."

"I was-"

"Shut up! Caleb, continue."

Caleb swallowed. "Deuce told me he wouldn't. That he'd been- less than on the ball lately."

Mackland studied his son, knowing him well enough to know there was still more to it, but he would deal with that later. He turned back to the Knight. "I don't even know where to begin with you. I've left you messages, kept you up to date on Dean's condition. You could have come any time. Why now?"

John bristled at the accusation. "I finished the hunt. I came as soon as I could."

"Caleb?"

Caleb didn't know who was more surprised when his father all but demanded he read the other hunter. Evidently Mac wouldn't suffer fools tonight. A quick read told him what he and Deuce both already suspected.

"He's got another hunt. He needs Dean."

"Go sit with Dean," Mac ordered.

Caleb didn't waste any time in obeying the order. Damn, his dad could be scary when he wanted to be.

**0 9 9 8 7 6 S U P E R N A T U R A L 0 6 6 6 6 **

"I don't even know where to start," Mac sighed, crossing his arms to keep from hitting the man he needed to remind himself that he loved, trying to find any way to justify the man's actions in his own mind.

"You can try keeping your nose out of Winchester business, for one. Don't think for a second I didn't know Junior was a plant."

"He was there to help your son, John. You know, the one who didn't leave, would never leave, no matter how far you push him. But then, you rely on that, don't you?"

"I don't need a lecture from The Scholar!" John snapped. How he raised his boys was his business.

"This isn't the Scholar, Johnathan, this is the father of a boy you endangered. This is the pseudo uncle of another boy that almost died, and had to face a difficult recovery without the support of his family," Mac snapped back, making sure John didn't have a chance to blur the lines on the many roles he played. "This is your best friend for who the life of him can't figure out _why_."

"Dean understands."

"And that, my friend, is perhaps the saddest part in this tragedy. He does. Not only understands, but _forgives_ you. We spent weeks asking him where you were. How to find you. He never answered. Told us you would be back when you were ready."

John ran a hand through his hair. "How is he?"

"He's healing. He'll walk again, but whether or not he'll ever be able to hunt again-"

"He'll hunt."

Frustrated, Mackland clenched his fists. "You living in denial is not going to help him."

John shrugged, reaching into the fridge to grab a beer. "I know my son. Hunting is all he has left. He'll hunt again."

Mackland stood, shocked to his core at the blase confidence, the cold, cruel words. "He still has his family, damnit, John. That's what he needs, what he wants."

"I screwed up, Mac, is that what you want to hear?" John demanded. "Fine. I did. I shouldn't have sent them. It's not the first time I've regretted something in my life, and it sure as hell won't be the last. But it's done. Caleb is fine, and Dean is healing."

And suddenly Mac understood why Dean forgave his father so much. Why Caleb still worshipped the man even while wanting to kill him. Why he himself would forgive him- eventually.

Because no matter what the man did, no matter the pain he seemed to cause, his heart was always in the right place. He wanted to protect the boys, make sure they were ready. The military was John's last reference point for war and order. It was what he fell back on when he was lost. He had been so lost since Mary had passed. He was raising soldiers because he didn't know anything else, because there was a bi scary world out there and it could take away anyone, at any time. He truly was doing the best he could.

If you loved the bastard, no matter how angry you were at him, you couldn't help but pity him.

"I think Jim has an assignment for you. This hunt of yours will have to wait." Jim would understand, would probably pair him up with Singer on his latest hunt.

"I'll call Jim from the car."

"Don't you think you should stay until Dean wakes up?"

John shook his head. "I don't think so. He's doing fine here. When he's ready, we can start him on some training at the farm. I'll catch up with him there. Don't coddle him for too long, Mac."

"I promise your soldier will be in fighting form when he returns to you, Corporal," Mac snapped sarcastically.

John nodded, opening the door to the apartment. "Good."

**0 9 8 7 8 0 4 3 T H E B R O T H E R H O O D 0 6 6 6 6**

Caleb flinched when the door slammed, not even needing his abilities to sense the Knight had left. Glancing over at his charge, any hopes of the boy being asleep were dashed as two tear tracks made their way down the otherwise relaxed face. Dean didn't move. Didn't flinch. Just a silent showing of the agony he was determined to suffer through alone.

"Ah shit, Deuce."


	8. Healing

**AN: **Okay, so here it is, the last chapter. Thank you to all who have read and reviewed, who have followed this little tale. I like to hurt the boys, but I would never leave them broken. Many thanks once again to Ridley C. James and Tidia for their creation of this wonderful verse, and the rich characters they developed from Kripke's original masterpiece.

To think it all began with two random names being dropped, and an unexplained silver band. Your genius, ladies, will forever be appreciated!

The Brotherhood AU stories can be found in chronological order at **The Hunters Tomb**. Make sure to check out LovinDean's (she goes by Lovinjackson here) amazing Brotherhood Tribute video on youtube. I put it on replay and listened as I wrote this last chapter.

**SPN FW BR THE TRIAD SPN FW THE BROTHERHOOD**

Jim stood at the edge of the pond, patiently waiting for the small boat to make it's way back to shore. He took the time to study the body in the boat. Months, rehab, steady diet, strict exercise routines, and several surgeries later revealed a relatively healthy young man. The sun had kissed his skin, laying the way for the return of the light tan.

To watch him during the day, it was easy to forget the awful events of the almost year before. Dean was back to his usual self, with the exception of the gaping hole Sam had left in his soul. Jim chose to be confident that time would eventually heal that wound as well.

The old pastor knew he had to be watching closely to catch the odd pained grimace or wince when Dean pushed himself too hard- which he most definitely had. He remembered when Mac had called him to tell him about the conversation he'd had with John Winchester several weeks before. He'd been worried the boy might have overheard them, though Dean refused to say.

'_Hunting is all he has left. He'll hunt again._' A cold, hard, cruelly delivered sentiment that had proven to be prophetic. They'd all begged the boy to slow down, to take the time to heal. Caleb especially had been extremely vocal on the subject, even going so far as to threaten to call Sam. Dean hadn't listened to any of them.

Jim knew without looking that the younger hunter's shadow would be learning against the barn wall, watching them both. After John's unfortunate visit, Caleb had attached himself to their patient. An ever vigilant protector, ready to battle the fiercest of Dean's nightmares. He had to applaud the effort, though it made him more convinced that more than words had been overheard.

"Jim!" Dean called out, surprised. He hadn't noticed the pastor waiting for him and flushed guiltily. "How long have you been here?"

"Long enough, but not so long as I was willing to wait."

"Right. Of course. My bad," Dean chuckled over the characteristic reply. He accepted the old magician's help out of the boat, his bad knee still a little unsteady. "What's up?"

"Have you recovered well here, Dean?"

Dean screwed up his face, confused, but was willing, as always, to indulge the man. "Of course I have. Mac says it's one of those miracles you love so much that my knee is as good as it is."

"Does it still pain you?"

Constantly. But he wasn't about to admit it. A glance toward the barn showed him Caleb was far enough away not to call his bluff. "Not much." He moved forward a few steps, happy that it promoted a slow walk around the pond. His knee could stiffen up on him after being still for a while.

"You've always been a terrible liar," Jim pointed out gently.

Dean laughed. "But you still keep asking. Just which one of us is screwed up?"

Jim chuckled, nodding his head. "Point and match to you, my boy."

Dean glanced back to the barn, noting Caleb was still there. "I see you've put a leash on my guard dog. You want to just come out and tell me what this is all about?"

Jim frowned. "We only want what's best for you, Dean. You saved Caleb's life and in return could have lost everything. We all know there are worse things than death out there. If your knee hadn't-"

"But it did. So you should all stop watching me like I'm going to collapse any minute. And Damien should dump the guilt," Dean interrupted. "I appreciate the concern, really, I do, but I'm not fragile and I wish everyone would stop treating me like I was."

"What would you have done if it hadn't?" Jim asked, genuinely curious.

Dean looked up at the sun, then met the pastor's knowing eyes. "I've spent months working hard enough to never have to answer that question, Jim." But he had. He had thought long and hard on it. The answer had near about killed him. There was nothing else for him to do. His father had been right. It was all he had. All he was.

Jim nodded, not believing but accepting. "Sometimes I think about what I would have done had fate forged a different path than this."

"Do you regret it?"

"No. In fact, the few times I find my mind wandering to such thoughts, usually when dealing with your father, I feel a great mourning for what I would have lost. But I was driven here. I wasn't born into the life, not like you three boys."

Dean sighed and stopped. "So that's what this is about. Dad's back." He knew it had to happen eventually.

"Do you ever wish your life had turned out differently?" Jim ignored Dean's astute interpretation of his musings.

Dean couldn't meet the older man's eyes. "If you want me to be brutally honest, Jim, then no, I don't. Not because there aren't things in my life that I wouldn't want to change, but because there is no way to change them. This is my life. Wishing for something different isn't going to change anything, it's just going to tear me apart." _Like it tore Sammy and Dad apart,_ was left unsaid but heard nonetheless. "And the way I see it, Merlin, is that it could have turned out a hell of a lot worse."

Jim wondered what it said about them, about the adults in Dean's life, that this young boy had already learned one of the hardest lessons life had to offer. It sent a surge of pride through the Guardian, a sense of hope for their future, but left a pang in the heart of a doting uncle. "And the future?"

"Is one day away from being the past. It'll come no matter what, no one is going to stop and ask our opinions on it. Some of us will live to see it, some of us won't. It's the way the game is played that counts."

Jim sighed. "You're too young to be so wise, Little Rabbit."

Dean hated to see his friend look so sad. "Ah, but I've been made Real, Skin Horse. As long as there's that, everything else can be negotiated." He winked. "Now tell me what's going on. My personal flea bag is starting to yank his chain."

Jim glanced back toward the barn to find Caleb was now pacing. "You were right. Your father will be here in the morning. He expects to leave tomorrow night."

"With me in tow."

Jim nodded. "Only if you're ready to go. I can issue a Guardian mandate, if need be."

"I'm ready. I've sat around long enough. It's time to get back to work. Damien needs to get back his life, and Mackland has already spent too much time with me as it is. You have a church and farm to run."

"It is time gladly spent, Dean, don't ever forget that."

Dean looked down at his boots. "I know. And I can't say enough how grateful I am to all of you. This would have been so much harder without you. I owe you one."

"Despite your father's opinion, Dean, family is never about debt."

Dean shrugged. "But it is, isn't it? Blood is binding, tells us we owe something to someone else who shares a part of us. Unconditional love? It's just one unending debt of loyalty. In loving someone we give them a part of our soul. The fact that it goes both ways just doubles the debt. In forgiving them we force them to forgive us in return."

Jim frowned, running a hand over his mouth while he thought how to answer the logic being presented to him. "I like to think of it as more entrusting another with ourselves. That in protecting them, we are, in fact, protecting ourselves."

"Sounds a little selfish, if you ask me."

Jim laughed. "I guess it does, when you think about it. I'm going to miss these talks."

Dean forced a smile. "Me too." Because Jim was the only one he could talk to like this. It was fun and relaxing to talk philosophy with the pastor. It was rare to be allowed to share some of his deeper thoughts. To have them not only considered, but respected. He wondered if his readiness to return to hunting had more to do with the debt he owed his family, or if he was wary of getting comfortable where he was. He loved the farm, no doubt about it, but he was very aware it was as much of a trap as a haven for him.

"We'd best get back. It's fried chicken and apple pie tonight."

Dean grinned, patting his muscular stomach. "I could go for that, though I think I've gotten spoiled."

Jim smiled. "Sometimes it's as much about healing the soul as it is the body."

Dean stopped, turning to face his friend once more. "It's all healing, Jim, I promise." He turned and walked back to the house by himself.

Jim watched him go, saw Caleb move away from the barn in hot pursuit, saw Mac step back into the house from where he'd been watching from the porch. Debt or no, this was his family, and it was slowly being brought back together.

"That it is, my boy. That it is."


End file.
